95 


IRLF 


POEMS 


A  w  r> 


\:  ../ 


POEMS  AND  INSCRIPTIONS 


BY    R.    W.    GILDER 

The  New  Day 

The  Celestial  Passion 

Lyrics 

Two  Worlds 

The  Great  Remembrance 

THE      ABOVE      ALSO      IN 
ONE   VOLUME    ENTITLED 

Five  Books  of  Song 

A    SELECTION    ENTITLED 

"  For  the  Country" 

In  Palestine 

Poems  and  Inscriptions 


POEMS   AND 
INSCRIPTIONS 


BY 


RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 


NEW    YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 
1901 


COPYRIGHT,     IpOl 

BY     RICHARD     WATSON     GILDER 

ALL   RIGHTS    RESERVED 


CONTENTS 

Autumn  at  Four-Brooks  Farm        ....  i 

Indoors  in  Early  Spring ..     .  3 

The  Night  Pasture       ........  5 

A  Letter  from  the  Farm    . 10 

Summer  Begins .  17 

"Strolling  Toward  Shottery  " 19 

Stratford  Bells 22 

In  Wordsworth's  Orchard 24 

Dove  Cottage. 

Sir  Walter  Scott     .........  26 

A  Day  in  Tuscany       29 

A  Sacred  Comedy  in  Florence        ....  33 

In  which  takes  Part  a  certain  Statue  on  the  Facade  of 
the  Duomo. 


MJL89013 


Contents 

Michael  Angelo's  Aurora 35 

The  Medici  Chapel,  Florence. 

The  Old  Master 36 

At  Luther's  Grave        38 

Wittenberg. 

Beethoven 40 

Vienna. 

The  Desert 42 

Egypt 44 

Syria 45 

The  Dead  Poet        46 

A.  H. 

War 48 

The  Blameless  Knight 51 

The  Demagogue 54 

The  Tool       55 

The  New  Politician .  56 

A  Lady  to  a  Knight 59 

vi 


Contents 
"  Is  Hope  a  Phantom?"       60 

Song 6 1 

"  If,  lest  thy  heart  betray  thee." 

Memory 63 

"O  Glorious  Sabbath  Sun"       .....  65 

Motto  for  a  Tree-Planting 66 

Janet 67 

On  Being  Asked  for  a  Song 69 

Concerning  the  dedication  of  a  Mountain  in  Samoa, 
to  the  Memory  of  Stevenson.     A  letter  to  I.  O.  S. 

To  Austin  Dobson 72 

To  L.  R.  S 74 

"Many  the  Names" 76 

John  George  Nicolay 77 

Washington,  D.  C,  September  1901. 

At  the  President's  Grave       79 

Garfield  :  September  1881. 

The  Comfort  of  the  Trees 81 

McKinley :  September  1901. 
vii 


Contents 

The  City  of  Light 83 

The  Pan-American  Exposition. 

Inscriptions  for  the  Pan-American  Exposition 
at  Buffalo,  1901 88-101 

For  the  Propylaea 88 

For  the  Stadium        90 

For  the  Great  Pylons  of  the  Triumphal 
Causeway 91 

Dedicatory  Inscriptions      .     .     .     .     .    94 


viii 


POEMS 


AUTUMN  AT  FOUR-BROOKS 
FARM 

NO  song-bird,  singing,  soaring, 
But  the  brooks  are  up  and  roaring! 
Along  the  lane  one  lonely  tree 
Starts  a  sound  like  a  storm  at  sea. 
The  round,  black  clouds  pursue 
Across  the  gulfs  of  blue ; 
So  fast  they  fly  the  mountain  crest 
Reels  backward  to  the  blowing  west. 
Shadow  and  sun  rush  on  together 
Across  the  hills  in  the  gusty  weather, 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

And  leaves  like  flocks  of  golden  birds 
Take  flight  above  the  huddling  herds. 
Hark,  hark  that  bell-like  baying! — 
The  wily  fox  with  the  hound  is  playing; 
All  is  motion,  and  air,  and  strife; 
Down  the  valley  the  floods  are  pouring; 
This  is  Autumn,  O  this  is  life; 
No  song-bird  sings,  but  the  hawks  are  soaring, 
And  the  brooks  are  up  and  roaring! 


INDOORS  IN  EARLY  SPRING 

IN  the  old  farm-house  living-room 
Four  shrunken  doors  shut  out  the  gloom ; 
Two  curtained  windows  hide  night's  pall ; 
These  openings  six  in  the  ancient  wall 
Let  in  the  breeze  in  seams. 
The  air  in  spark-lit,  pouring  streams 
From  hearth  to  heaven  leaps. 
Against  the  black  of  the  chimney-soot 
The  forked  flames  upshoot, 
And  the  blaze  a-roaring  keeps. 
3 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

ii 

Every  log  is  a  separate  flute ; 
And  every  chink  a  singing  wire 
Of  some  unseen  yEolian  lyre 
Tuned  to  the  music  of  the  fire. 
The  little  tinkling  sounds;  the  low, 
Sweet  whistlings  of  the  bubbling  wood ; 
The  thundering  bass  of  winds  that  blow 
In  leafless  maples  by  the  road,— 
All  make  a  music  in  the  mind; 
While,  book  in  hand,  in  musing  mood, 
My  body  here,  my  soul  in  flight, — 
Through  the  true  poet's  world  I  wind, 
And  there  a  spirit-music  find 
That  mixes  with  the  sounding  night. 


THE  NIGHT  PASTURE 

i 

IN  a  starry  night  of  June,  before  the  moon  had 
come  over  into  our  valley  from  the  high 
valley  beyond, 

Up  the  winding  mountain-lane  I  wandered, 
and,  stopping,  leaned  on  the  bars,  and  listened ; 
And  I  heard  the  little  brook  sliding  from  stone 
to  stone ;  and  I  heard  the  sound  of  the  bells  as  the 
cows  moved, — heavily,  slowly, — 

In   various  keys,  deep,    or    like  sleigh-bells 
tinkling,  sounded  the  chiming  cow-bells, — 
5 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

Starting  and  stilling,  irregular ;  near  or  far  away 
in  the  dusk, — 

And  the  nearer  cows  I  heard  chewing  the  cud, 
and  breathing  warm  on  the  cool  air  of  the  moun 
tain  slope 

In  the  night  pasture. 

u 

Terrace  on  terrace  rises  the  farm,  from  mea 
dow  and  winding  river  to  forest  of  chestnut  and 
pine; 

There  by  the  high-road,  among  the  embower 
ing  maples,  nestles  the  ancient  homestead; 

From  each  new  point  of  vantage  lovelier  seems 
the  valley,  and  the  hill-framed  sunset  ever  more 
and  more  moving  and  glorious ; 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

But  when  in  the  thunderous  city  I  think  of  the 
mountain  farm,  nothing  so  sweet  of  remem 
brance, — holding  me  as  in  a  dream, — 

As  the  silver  note  of  the  unseen  brook,  and  the 
clanging  of  the  cow-bells  fitfully  in  the  dark,  and 
the  deep  breathing  of  the  cows 

In  the  night  pasture. 

HI 

Then  I  think,  not  of  myself — but  an  image  comes 
to  me  of  one  who  has  passed, — 

Of  an  old  man  bent  with  labor; 

He,  like  his  father  before  him,  for  many  and 
many  a  year, 

When  the  cows  down  the  mountains  have 
trudged  in  the  summer  evening,  and  after  the 
evening  milking, 

7 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

Night  after  night,  and  year  after  year,  back  up 
the  lane  he  has  driven  them,  while  the  shepherd- 
dog  leaped  and  barked, — 

Back  up  the  lane,  and  past  the  orchard,  and 
through  the  bars 

Into  the  night  pasture. 

IV 

There  in  the  twilight  I  see  him  stand : 

He  listens  to  the  sounds  of  the  field  and  the 
forest, 

On  his  brow  strikes  the  cool  mountain  air; 

Hard  is  the  old  man's  life  and  full  indeed  of 
sorrow,— 

But  now,  for  a  moment,  respite  from  labor,  in 

the  pause  'twixt  day  and  night ! 
8 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

Perhaps  to  his  heart  comes  a  sense  of  the 
beauty  that  fills  all  this  exquisite  valley, — 

A  sense  of  peace  and  of  rest ;  a  thought  of  the 
long  and  toilless  night  that  comes  to  all, 

As  he  leans  on  the  bars  and  listens,  and  hears 
the  deep-breathed  cows,  and  the  scattered  sound 
of  the  bells 

In  the  night  pasture. 


A   LETTER   FROM  THE 
FARM 

TELL  you  the  news 
From  Four- Brooks  Farm  ? 
Well, 

But  there  is  news  to  tell, 
As  long  as  my  arm ! 
11  What !  a  new  she-calf  born 
To  this  world  forlorn  ?  " 
Few  things  are  finer 
Than  a  fine  heifer-calf, 

And  most  things  are  minor; 
10 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

But  'tis  better  by  half 

The  news  that  I've  got  now! 

Such  a  wonderful  lot  now 

Of  heifers, — why,  what  now 

Such  farm  news  as  this ! 

You  were  here,  when,  what  bliss! 

Alpha  dropped  on  our  planet, 

And  we  all  ran  to  scan  it : 

How  the  soft  thing,  with  silk  down, 

Had  learned  to  bring  milk  down 

Without  any  teaching, 

Example,  or  preaching! 

No  this  is  not  the  news 
From  Four-Brooks  Farm — 
Nor  the  ice-pond  built 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

Where  Hermit  Brook  spilt; 
Nor  the  great  pine  we  found 
Thunder-burst  in  the  middle 
And  spread  on  the  ground 
Like  the  strings  of  a  fiddle; 
Not  of  this,  not  of  that, — 
Such  news  now  were  flat, — 
But  something  far  racier! 
Muir,  of  Alaska, 
Path-finder,  cliff-basker, 
Known  of  bird,  known  of  deer, 
(Grizzlies  know  him,  won't  harm,) 
John  Muir  has  been  here, 
And  has  hitched  to  the  farm 
A  great  blanket  glacier! 

Don't  flout  it!  don't  doubt  it! 
12 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

'Tis  as  sure  and  as  clear 

As  if  on  the  rock, 

With  chisel  and  knock, 

A  giant  of  eld 

His  message  had  spelled, 

And  ten  thousand  years  after 

We  read  it,— with  laughter 

And  loyal  acclaim, — 
His  ancestry,  name, 
The  work  he  was  doing, 
The  place  whence  he  came, 
And  the  journey  pursuing. 
"  This  giant  of  eld! 
See  his  path,"  said  John  Muir, — 
4 'Here  it  held 
North-west  to  south-east ; 
13 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

Slow  and  sure, 
Like  a  king  at  a  feast 
Eating  down  through  the  list; 
Inch  by  inch,  crunch  by  crunch; 
Yonder  hollow  his  lunch, 
Of  this  valley — one  gobble, — 
Then  he  supped  light  on  Cobble! 
This  big  boulder,  he  bore  it ; 
Through  eons  uncounted 
That  range  there  he  mounted, 
He  tore  it. 

Rock-grinding ;  strata  rending ; 
Always  pausing;  never  ending; 
O  what  a  grand  rumpus! 
Now,  down  on  your  knees," 
Said  Muir,  "an  you  please, 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

And  out  with  your  compass!  " 

(By  the  way — 'twas  Thoreau's 

In  the  long,  long-agoes,) 

And  then,  in  a  trice, 

Where  the  quartz  glistens  white, 

Smooth  as  ice, 

In  the  clear,  slanting  light 

The  fine  striae  show, — 

Like  arrows  they  go, 

North-west  to  south-east, 

Just  as  John  Muir  pleased! 

And  as  he  spoke  I  saw  the  huge  creature  glide 
With  speed  that  scarcely  lessened  or  increased 
From  the  far  pole  to  ocean's  melting  tide. 
Through  countless  boreal  hours 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

It  moved  on  its  torn  pathway  deep  and  wide; 

Its  shining  bulk  I  saw 

Crunching  the  mountain  tops   with  monstrous 

maw; — 
To  make  our   Four-Brooks   Farm   with  all  its 

flocks  and  flowers. 


16 


SUMMER  BEGINS 

THE  bright  sun  has  been  hid  so  long, — 
Such  endless  rains,  such  clouds  and  glooms ! 
But  now,  as  with  a  burst  of  song, 
The  happy  Summer  morning  blooms. 

ii 
The  brooks  are  full,  it  is  their  youth ; 

No  hint  of  shrunken  age  have  they; 
They  shout  like  children,  and  in  truth, 
No  human  child  so  careless-gay. 
17 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

in 
How  fresh  the  woods,  each  separate  leaf 

Is  shining  in  the  joyful  sun. 
Strange!    I  have  half  forgotten  grief; 

I  think  that  life  has  just  begun. 


18 


"STROLLING  TOWARD 
SHOTTERY" 

i 

STROLLING     toward     Shottery     on    one 
showery  day 

We  saw  upon  the  turf  beside  the  path 
A  clown  who,  stooping  by  the  pleasant  way, 
Rough-cobbled  his  torn  shoes  and  spoke  in 
feigned  wrath. 

II 
At  first  we    thought    him    brain-touched    and 

askew, 

But  as  we  listened  to  his  shrilling  talk 
19 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

We  found  him  prating  of  some  things  he  knew, 
Though  others  he  but  guessed  ; — we  halted  in 
our  walk. 

in 

His  was  the  wisdom  shrewd  of  roadside  men, 
Gathered  in  wanderings  through  the  country 

wide; 

He  had  a  cynic  wit,  and  to  his  ken 
The  world  wagged  wickedly, — saved  by  its 
humorous  side. 

IV 

Racy  his  speech  and,  though  it  bit,  good-hearted ; 

There  was  an  honest  freshness  in  the  tramp ; 
We  felt  his  debtor,  therefore  when  we  parted 

Some  pennies  wealthier  the  philosophic  scamp ! 
20 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

v 
Laughing  we  followed  on  to  sweet  Anne's  cot : 

—Perhaps  like  us  her  lover  left  the  town ; 
Like  us  he  crossed  the  pretty  pasture  lot, 
And    met— and    made    immortal — one    more 
Shakespeare  clown. 


21 


STRATFORD  BELLS 

ONE  Sabbath  eve,  betwixt  green  Avon's 
banks, 

In  a  dream-world  we  hour  by  hour  did  float; 
The  ruffling  swans  moved  by  in  stately  ranks; 
With  soft,  sad  eyes  the  cattle  watched  our 

boat. 

We,  passionate  pilgrims  from  a  far-off  land, 
Beyond  the  vexed  Bermoothes :    Oh,  how  dear 
That  strange,  sweet  picture, — by  the  Enchan 
ter's  wand 
Familiar  to  our  spirits  made,  and  near! 

22 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

But  suddenly  a  loud  and  resonant  sound 
Thrilled  from  the  skies  and  waters;   lo,  the 

chimes 

Of  Stratford  rang  and  rang ;  the  very  ground 
Murmured,  as  with  a  deep-voiced  poet's  rhymes; 
Then    swift    melodious   tone   on  tone    was 

hurled : 

'Twas  Shakespeare's  music  brimmed  the  trem 
bling  world. 


IN  WORDSWORTH'S  ORCHARD 

DOVE   COTTAGE 

IN  Wordsworth's  orchard  one  sweet  Summer 
day 

Breathless  we  listened  to  his  thrushes  sing; 
We  heard  the  trickling  of  the  little  spring 
Beneath  the  terrace ;  saw  the  tender  play 
Of  breezes  'midst  the  leaves;  scarce  could  we  say 
The  well-loved  verses  whose  rich  blossoming 
Was  on  this  narrow  hillside ;  strange  they  ring 

For  tears  that  choke  the  numbers  on  their  way. 
24 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

Then  home  by  winding  Rothay  did  we  turn 
While  bird,  and  bloom,  and  mountain  seemed 

his  voice 
Deep  sounding  to  the  spiritual  ear, — 

And  this  its  message :  Let  love  in  thee  burn, 
Here  learn  in  holy  beauty  to  rejoice 
Here  learn  true  living,  and  the  song  sincere. 


SIR  WALTER   SCOTT 

i 

RHYMERS  and  writers  of  our  day, 
Too  much  of  melancholy! 
Give  us  the  old  heroic  lay ; 
A  whiff  of  wholesome  folly ; 
The  escapade,  the  dance; 
A  touch  of  wild  romance: 
Wake  from  this  self-conscious  fit; 
Give  us  again  Sir  Walter's  wit; 
His  love  of  earth,  of  sky,  of  life; 
His  ringing  page  with  humor  rife ; 
His  never-weary  pen ; 

His  love  of  men ! 

26 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

ii 

Builder  of  landscape,  who  could  make 
Turret  and  tower  their  stations  take 
Brave  in  the  face  of  the  sun ; 
Of  many  a  mimic  world  creator, 
Alive  with  fight  and  strenuous  fun ; 
Of  nothing  human  he  the  hater. 
Nobly  could  he  plan : 
Master  of  nature,  master  of  man. 

in 

Sometimes  I  think  that  He  who  made  us, 
And  on  this  pretty  planet  laid  us, 
Made  us  to  work  and  play 
Like  children  in  the  light  of  day— 
Not  like  plodders  in  the  dark, 

Searching  with  lanterns  for  some  mark 
27 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

To  find  the  way. 
After  the  stroke  of  pain, 
Up  and  to  work  again ! 

IV 

Such  was  his  life,  without  reproach  or  fear: 

A  lonely  fight  before  the  last  eclipse, — 

A  broken  heart,  a  smile  upon  the  lips; 

And,  at  the  end, 

When  Heaven  bent  down  and  whispered  in 
his  ear 

The  word  God's  saints  waited  and  longed 
to  hear, 

1  ween  he  was  as  quick  as  they  to  compre 
hend; 

And,  when  he  passed  beyond  the  goal, 

Entered  the  gates  of  pearl  no  sweeter  soul. 
28 


A  DAY  IN  TUSCANY 

I  KNEW  the  Rucellai  had  choice  of  villas: 
This  day  has  proved  it,  this  thrice  happy  day 
Stolen  from  care,  and  many  a  saddened  thought. 
Have  we  not  seen,  we  wanderers  from  afar, 
Fountained  Caneto,  standing  watch  and  ward 
Over  Bisenzio's  lovely,  curving  vale! — 
Caneto,  olive-cinctured,  cypress-crowned, 
And  wreathed  in  vine ;  Caneto  whose  high  hall 
Bears  record  of  a  proud  and  noble  race, 
Friendly  to  art  and  letters  (Cimabue 

Be  witness  paramount;  and  the  brave  front 
29 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

Of  Santa  Maria  Novella;  the  Academe 
That  in  the  Garden  of  the  Rucellai 
Relit  the  Athenian  fire!)  yes,  Edith  dear, 
1  love  Caneto  well,  but  well  I  love 
This  "Villa  of  the  Little  Fields,"  that  hides 
Embowered  among  its  farms;  in  rose  and  lilac 
Radiant  and  scented  like  an  April  bride; 
'Mid  busy  sounds  secluded  and  remote. 
But  most  I  love  this  tower  you  call  my  own, 
This  musing  tower  that  wins  the  soul  to  song, 
From  whose  four  windows,  see!  the  Apennines 
Make  a  walled  paradise  of  Tuscany. 

ii 

Beyond  the  ilex-dome,  against  the  west, 
The  sunset  sky  was  crimson :   ''Then/'  you  say, 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

"  Fair  is  to-morrow,  if  the  sky  was  red." 
"  Fair  is  to-morrow  "  ?    Oh,  to-morrow  fair 
That  wakes  me  from  this  dream  ? — Here  from 

my  tower 

One  planet  marks  where  Prato  lies  below, 
And  yonder,  through  the  tender  gray  and  green 
Of  the  high-branching  plane-tree,  shines  a  light 
Betwixt    the  earth    and    heaven, — a    lure  that 

means 

Florence,  and  all  its  wonder;  now,  ah,  now 
The  hour  draws  nigh  when  Italy  once  more 
To  me  is  of  the  past,  a  thought,  a  passion, 
But  all  ungrasped  of  sense. 
And  what  is  that  our  Cosimo  has  said  ? 
"To-day  the  nightingales  have  come."— Have 

come? 

31 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

And  I,  though  listening  long,  and  with  my  soul, 
I  have  not  heard  one  tone. 

In  the  Tower  at  Campi  Bisen^io. 


A    SACRED    COMEDY    IN 
FLORENCE 

IN  WHICH  TAKES  PART  A  CERTAIN  STATUE 
ON  THE  FAgADE  OF  THE  DUOMO 

LONELY  Pope  upon  his  throne, 
Cold  in  marble,  high  in  air, — 
On  the  Duomo's  checkered  front, — 
Benediction,  as  is  "wont, 
Falling  from  his  saintly  face 
Down  upon  the  clattering  square : — 
Falls,  to-day,  a  special  grace 
For,  in  fact,  he's  not  alone, — 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

Solemn  Pope  upon  his  throne, 
White  in  marble,  cold  in  air! — 
To  those  priestly  fingers  there, 
Lifted  o'er  the  peopled  square, 
A  purple  pigeon  sudden  flits — 
Lightly  'lights  and  lingering  sits. 
By  the  Bapistery  gates, 
Where  I  stand,  I  can  but  smile, 
Thinking  that  the  potentate's 
Lips  are  curving,  too,  the  while  ; 
And  I  wonder  what  the  bird 
Said  that  Papa,  smiling,  heard, 


MICHAEL  ANGELO'S  AURORA 

THE  MEDICI   CHAPEL,    FLORENCE 

O  MAJESTY  and  loveliness  in  one! 
Why  art  thou  sorrowful,  now  night  is 
done  ? 

This  is  the  dawn ;  why  doth  thy  spirit  quake  ? 
O  thou  who  wakenest!  is  it  pain  to  wake? 


THE    OLD    MASTER 

OF  his  dear  Lord  he  painted  all  the  life, 
But  not  that  ancient  land,  nor  the  old 

days; 

Not  curious  he  to  seek,  through  learned  strife, 
The  look  of  those  far  times  and  unknown  ways. 
But  in  his  solemn  and  long-living  art 
Well  did  he  paint  that  which  can  never  die  : 
The  life  and  passion  of  the  human  heart, 
Unchanged  while  sorrowing  age  on  age  goes 
by. 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

Beneath  his  brush  his  own  loved  people  grew, 
Their  rivers  and  their  mountains,  saints  and 

lords,  \ 

The  dark  Italian  mothers  whom  he  knew, 
The  sad-eyed  nuns,  the  warriors  with  drawn 

swords  ; 

Andthe  youngSaviour,  thronedat  Mary's  breast, 
Was  but  some  little  child  whom  he  loved  best. 


AT  LUTHER'S  GRAVE 

WITTENBERG 

HERE  rests  the    heart    whose   throbbing 
shook  the  earth ! 

High  soul  of  courage,  we  do  owe  thee  much ; 
Thee  and  thy  warrior  comrades,  who  the 

worth 

Of  freedom  proved  and  put  it  to  the  touch ! 
Because,  O  Luther,  thou  the  truth  didst  love, 
And  spake  the  truth  out,  faced  the  sceptered 

lie, 

E'en  we,  thy  unforgetting  heirs,  may  move 
Fearless,  erect,  unshackled,  'neath  the  sky. 

38 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

Yet  at  this  shrine  who  doth  forever  linger 

Shall  know  not  that  true  freedom  Luther 

won; — 
"Onward,"  his   spirit  points,  with    lifted 

finger, 

"Onward  lies  truth !  My  work  were  never  done 
If  souls  by  me  awakened  climbed  not  higher — 
Ever  to  seek,  and  fear  not,  the  celestial  fire." 


39 


BEETHOVEN 

VIENNA 

I  CAME  to  a  great  city.     Palaces 
Rose  glittering,  mile  on  mile.     Here  dwells 

the  King, 

The  Emperor  and  King;  here  lived,  here  ruled 
How  many  mountainous  far-looming  fames; 
Here  is  the  crown  of  shadowy  Charlemagne. 
What  housing  of  what  glorious  dignities! 
Yet  in  a  narrow  street,  unfrequented, 

No  palace  near — one  name  upon  a  wall, 
40 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

And  all  these  majesties  seem  small  and  shrunk  : 

For  here  unto  the  bitter  end  abode 

He  who  from  pain  wrought  noble  joy  for  men, 

He  who  from  silence  gave  the  world  to  song; 

For  in  his  mind  an  awful  music  rose 

As  when,  in  darkness  of  the  under-seas, 

Currents  tremendous  over  currents  pour. 

He  heard  the  soundless  tone,  its  voice  he  was, 

And  he  of  vast  humanity  the  voice, 

And  his  the  empire  of  the  human  soul. 


THE    DESERT 

SOULS  live  for  whom  the  illimitable  sands 
Not  lonely  are  ;  they  see  white,  phantom 

hands 

Beckoning  in  spectral  twilights,  and  they  hear 
Voices  that  come  not  to  another  ear. 
The  mystic  desert  calls  them,  as  doth  call 
The  sea  to  those  who  once  have  known  its 

thrall— 
The  desert  that  (like  to  the  eternal  sea) 

Creates  a  visible  infinity ; — 
42 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

There,  where  the  day  its  quivering  fire  outpours, 

A  silent  ocean  breaks  on  silent  shores. 

Who  would  be  wise 

Let  him  consort  with  Time  'neath  desert  skies. 


43 


EGYPT 

I  THOUGHT,  in  Egypt,  Death  was  more  than 
Life, 

It  seemed  so  long;  its  monuments  so  great ; 
The  emptiness  of  tombs  was  such  high  state, — 
No  living  thought,  or  power,  or  potentate 
So  glorious  seemed,    wrapt    in  such   splendid 

gloom. 

For  I  perceived  that  in  each  ancient  tomb, 
Long  ages  since,  dead  kings  for  Death  made  room. 
Not  here  the  Dead,  but  Death: — alone,  supreme: 
In  Egypt  Death  was  real, —Life  a  winged  Dream. 


44 


SYRIA 

I  THOUGHT  in  Syria,  Life  was  more  than 
Death. 

A  tomb  there  was  forsaken  of  its  dead, 
But  Death  filled  not  the  place;  here  with  bowed 

head 

Worships  the  world  forever  at  the  tread 
Of  one  who  lived,  who  liveth,  and  shall  live, — 
Whose  grave  is  but  a  footstep  on  the  sod ; 
Men  kiss  the  ground  where  living  feet  have  trod. 
Here  not  to  Death  but  Life,  they  worship  give. 
August  is  Death,  but  this  one  tomb  is  rife 
With  a  more  mighty  presence ;  it  is  Life. 


THE   DEAD   POET 

A.    H. 

I 

HIS  was  the  love  of  art  and  song, 
And  well  he  loved  the  flowery  way ; 
Yet  great  his  wrath  at  prospered  wrong ; 
When  evil  triumphed  day  by  day 
Then  plunged  he  in  the  fray. 

ii 

And  when  brave  innocence  went  down 
Then  did  the  vanquished  find  a  friend. 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

With  him  went  justice  through  the  town ; 
No  f oeman  ever  saw  him  bend ; 
He  scorn  for  scorn  could  send. 

HI 

Men  said  his  heritage  was  lost ; 
For,  born  to  gentler  use,  his  youth 

Was  wasted  in  rude  strife  ;  the  cost 
Too  great,  they  deemed,  although,  in  sooth, 
Through  him  men  learned  of  Truth. 

IV 

So  were  his  songs  but  brief  and  few  ; 

Yet  of  some  lives  they  were  a  part, 
And  on  some  souls  they  fell  like  dew ; 

Dead,— now  men  say :  he  gave  to  art 

The  epic  of  the  heart. 

47 


WAR 

TWO  men  on  thrones,  or  crouched 
behind, 

With  cunning  words  the  world  would  blind. 
With  faces  grave,  averse  from  spoils, 
They  weave  their  thieving,  cynic  toils. 
One  thing  they  mean,  another  speak ; 
Bland  phrases  utter,  tongue  in  cheek. 
Stale  truths  turn  lies  on  velvet  lips ; 
The  candid  heavens  are  in  eclipse; 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

From  crooked  minds,  and  hearts  all  black, 
Comes  WAR  upon  its  flaming  track, 
And  reeking  fiends  in  happy  hell 
Shout,  "  All  is  well!" 

ii 

Then  lives  surprise ! 
While  not  a  devil  dares  to  shirk, 
But  all  his  hellish  malice  plies — 
The  angels,  too,  begin  their  work. 
Now  every  virtue  issues  forth 
And  busy  is  from  south  to  north : 
Self-sacrifice,  and  love,  and  pity 
Tramp  all  the  rounds  in  field  and  city ; 
Mercy  beyond  a  price,  sweet  ruth, 
Courage  and  comradeship  and  truth, 
And  gentlest  deed  and  noblest  thought, 

49 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

Into  the  common  day  are  brought. 
Man  lives  at  heaven's  gate,  and  dies 
For  fellow-man  with  joyful  cries. 

in 

And  all  the  while  hell's  imps  are  free 
To  work  their  will  with  fearful  glee. 
The  beast  in  man  anew  is  born; 
Revenge,  and  lust,  and  pride,  and  scorn, 
And  glory  false,  and  hateful  hate, 
All  join  to  desecrate  the  State. 


THE    BLAMELESS    KNIGHT 

WHERE  led  the  bright  and  blame 
less  plume 

We  charged  the  shameless  foe ; 
Whether  to  win  or  lose  our  doom 
We  never  cared  to  know. 

ii 
His  voice  was  as  a  scimitar, 

Superb  and  sure  his  stroke ; 
And  where  he  came  their  men-of-war 
In  panic  fury  broke. 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

in 
Once  more  we  gathered  for  the  fight 

Against  the  ranks  of  shame; 
Again  we  called  the  blameless  knight 

And  cheered  him  as  he  came. 

IV 

But,  God  of  grace !  not  with  us  now 

Our  valiant  knight  doth  go : 
A  plume  of  black  above  his  brow — 

He  leads  the  shameless  foe! 

v 
They  are  the  same,  that  shameful  horde, 

The  same  their  shameless  song; 
Beneath  his  shield  they  draw  the  sword 

For  rapine  and  for  wrong. 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

VI 

Fight  on !  fight  on !  brave  comrades  all, 
Nor  weep  the  blameless  knight; 

They  cannot  fail,  what  though  they  fall, 
Who  battle  for  the  right. 

VII 

One  Captain  less  in  our  good  war, 

But  see!  a  thousand  spring 
Intent  as  never  men  before 

To  strike  the  Accursed  Thing. 


THE    DEMAGOGUE 

ALL  mouth,  no  mind;  a  mindless  mouth,  in 
sooth ; 

He  does  not  bend  his  strength  to  seek  the  truth, 
But,  shrewdly  guessing  what  may  take  the  crowd, 
With  tragic  grimace,  this  he  shouts  aloud. 
No  true  opinion,  no  fixed  faith  has  he, 
But  gravely  simulates  sincerity. 
His  many  causes  swift  resolve  to  one : 
You  find  him  his  own  cause  when  all  is  done. 


THE  TOOL 

THE  man  of  brains,  of  fair  repute,  and  birth, 
Who  loves  high  place  above  all  else  of 

earth ; 

Who  loves  it  so,  he'll  go  without  the  power 
If  he  may  hold  the  semblance  but  an  hour; 
Willing  to  be  some  sordid  creature's  tool 
So  he  but  seem  a  little  while  to  rule; — 
On  him  even  moral  pigmies  would  look  down  ; 
Were  prizes  given  for  shame,    he'd    wear  the 
crown. 


THE     NEW    POLITICIAN 

WHILE  others  hedged,  or  silent  lay, 
He  to  the  people  spoke  all  day; 
Aye,  and  he  said  precisely  what 
He  thought;  each  time  he  touched  the  spot. 
"  In  heaven's  name,  what  does  he  mean! 
Was  ever  such  blind  folly  seen!" 
The  wag-beard  politicians  cried : 
"  Can  no  one  stop  the  man  ?  "  they  sighed. 
"This  '  talking  frankly  '  may  be  fun, 
But  when  have  such  mad  tactics  won  ? 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

He  may  be  happy,  but  the  cost 

Is  ours!     The  whole  election's  lost!  " 

And  still  the  people  at  his  feet 
Followed  and  cheered  from  street  to  street. 
Truly  this  ne'er  was  known  before: 
No  soldier,  sailor,  orator, — 
No  hero  home  from  battle  he 
Whom  welcoming  thousands  rush  to  see; 
But  just  a  man  who  dared  to  take 
His  stand  on  justice,  make  or  break; 
'Twas  all  because  the  people  found 
A  man  by  no  conventions  bound ; 
Who  sought  to  heal  their  black  disgrace 
By  treating  rich  and  poor  the  same, 
Giving  to  crime  its  ugly  name, 
Damning  the  guilty  to  their  face. 
57 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

And  when  the  votes,  at  last,  were  read 
Our  candidate  ran  clear  ahead! 
This  be  his  glory  and  renown: 
He  told-the  truth — and  took  the  town. 


A    LADY   TO    A    KNIGHT 

SIR  Knight,  thou  lovest  not, 
If  thou  wouldst  be  too  dear; 
And  I  less  worshipful,  I  wot, 
If  thou  couldst  kneel  so  near! 

ii 
So  must  thy  shield  of  flawless  fame 

Shine  clear  in  honor's  light; 
Lest  I  should  know  a  queenly  shame 
To  find  thee  less  a  knight. 


59 


"IS    HOPE    A    PHANTOM?" 

IS  Hope  a  phantom  ?    Holds  the  crystal  cup 
Sweet  madness  only — an  we  drink  it  up  ? 
A  respite  ere  the  poor,  doomed  soul  is  killed  ? 
— Then  spake  one  who  had  loved :   "  Hope  is  no 

lie, 

But  real  as  answered  Love,  or  unfulfilled  ; 
Yet  were  Hope  phantom-false,  still  would  I  cry, 
'  Hail  Thou  Bright  Poisoner !  let  me  drink,  and 
die!"' 


60 


SONG 

IF.  lest  thy  heart  betray  thee, 
Thou  to  one   lover   wouldst   not 

constant  be, 

And  yet  thou  couldst  love  me — 
This  boon  I  pray  thee : 
Divide  the  dark  from  light, 

Love  me  by  night. 
61 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

ii 

If  thy  sweet  thought  would  find  me, 

Not  through  the  garish  day,  oh,  give  it 
wing: 

In  shadows  clasp  and  cling, 

And  bless  and  blind  me! 

When  stars  are  still  and  bright — 

Love  me  by  night, 
in 

In  longing  dreams  I'll  name  thee; 

In  secret  hours,  when  breathes  the  mid 
night  rose, 

Thy  heart  in  mine  shall  close, — 

Great  love  shall  claim  thee: 

O  mine  in  dark  and  light, 

In  day  and  night! 
62 


MEMORY 

INTO  this  musing,  Memory !  thou  hast  brought 
Me  thy  true  vassal;  into  this  delight 
That  is  more  poignant  for  the  haunting  grief; 
And  as  thou  leadest  on  I  follow,  follow, 
Down  the  deep,  woody  pathway  of  my  dream, — 
Feeling  the  breath  of  flowers  colorless 
And  airs  that  change  their  seasons  as  I  wander, 
Falling  or  cool  or  warm  upon  the  brow. 
The  river  shimmers  twixt  the  shadowy  boles; 
Scarce  seen  the  stars  for  the  high  monstrous  leaves 

63 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

That  make  a  lover's  screen ;  while  the  large  moon, 

Late  risen,  sends  three  beams  athwart  the  path. 

It  is  not  night,  nor  day,  it  is  the  time 

Of  the  clear  spirit's  life;  the  soul's  high  noon; 

The  hour  most  fit  for  passion's  holy  birth. 

O  mellow  eve,  unstartled  by  a  bird ! 

O  night  whose  light  is  deepening  up  the  sky ! 

— Twas  such  a  night  when  one  low-murmured 

word, — 

A  word  all  miracle,— made  of  my  soul 
Nought  but  a  singing  rapture. 


64 


O,  GLORIOUS  SABBATH 

SUN" 


O  GLORIOUS  Sabbath  sun,  thou  art 
A  balm  and  blessing  to  rny  heart; 
Dark  sorrow  flies,  and  in  thy  shine 
Bursts  o'er  the  world  a  flood  divine. 

H 

So  may  the  light  beyond  the  skies 
Illume  and  bless  my  inward  eyes, 
That  each  new  day  may  bring  to  me 
The  splendor  of  eternity. 


MOTTO    FOR    A    TREE- 
PLANTING 

STAY  as  the  tree— go  as  the  wind ; 
Whate'er  thy  place,  serve  God  and  kind  ! 

H 

The  tree  holds  commerce  with  the  skies 
Though  from  its  place  it  never  flies. 

HI 

They  serve  their  God ;  they  do  not  roam, — 
The  stormy  winds  that  have  no  home. 


66 


JANET 

I 

I  REMEMBER 
That  November 
When  the  new  November  child 
On  this  old  world  woke  and  smiled. 

ii 

Here's  a  woman, 
Sweet  and  human, 
And  they  call  her  Janet,  now, — 
I  can't  make  it  out,  I  vow. 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

in 

It  only  seems 
One  night  of  dreams ; 
Years  they  say ;  how  do  they  plan  it  ? 
What's  become  of  Little  Janet  ? 

IV 

Never  mind; 

She's  good;  she's  kind; 

Age  can  never  bend  or  win  her; 

There's  a  heart  of  youth  within  her. 


68 


ON  BEING  ASKED  FOR  A 
SONG 

CONCERNING    THE    DEDICATION    OF    A    MOUNTAIN   IN 
SAMOA   TO   THE  MEMORY   OF  STEVENSON 

A  Letter  to  1.  O.  S. 

BUT  friend  of  mine — and  his — I  am  afraid! 
How  can  I  make  a  song 
When  the  true  song  is  made! 
For  this  you  say : 

Because  that  Tusitala  loved  the  birds 
They  who  named  Tusitala  (weaver  of  charmed 
words — 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

Teller  of  Tales) 

Have  given  his  mountain  to  the  birds  forever! 

There  all  day  long 

Bright-plumaged  island-birds  make  gay  the  dales, 

From  off  the  sea  the  swift  white  bosun  over  the 

mountain  sails, 

From  many  a  large-leaved  tree 
The  gray  dove  cooes  its  low  insistent  song. 
From  those  green  heights  and  vales 
They  shall  be  absent  never— 
To  show  what  love  can  be  from  man  to  man. 
Lovers  of  Birds  and  Poets— this  is  glory ! 
It  is  a  poem, — that  whicn  these   Chiefs  have 

done, — 
In  memory  of  him,  the  only  one. 


70 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 
And  yet  our  Tusitala  could  have  sung  again  the 

pretty  story, — 
Alas,  none  other  can ! 


TO   AUSTIN   DOBSON 

LAUREATE  of  the  Gentle  Heart! 
Only  art  like  your  own  art, 
Limpid,  gracious,  happy-phrased, 
Could  praise  you  as  you  should  be  praised. 
Many  a  lyric  you  have  writ, 
Grave  with  pathos,  gay  with  wit 
Or  conceived  in  larger  mood, 
Shall  outlast  the  clattering  brood 
That  usurp  our  noisy  day ; 
Shall,  with  all  that's  noble,  stay 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

In  our  well-loved  English  tongue 

Till  the  ending  song  is  sung; 

For  no  purer  tone  was  heard 

Since  men  sought  Beauty  and  the  Word. 


73 


TO    L  R.  S. 

LISA  Romana!  no  mean  city  gave 
Thee  to  the  world,  sired  by  as  true  a 

knight 

As  e'er  the  flying  paynim's  helmet  clave, 
Leading  a  hope  forlorn  in  glorious  fight! 
And  thou,  dear,  stately  maid,  no  knight  of  old, 
That  eastward  battles  down  the  pleasant  page 
Of  chivalry,  ever  in  heart  did  hold 
A  queenlier  image, — face  more  brightly  grave. 
74 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

Be  kind  to  her,  ye  seas,  ye  winds  that  blow, 
On  the  long  journey  homeward,  and  one  day, 
Ocean  and  wild  sea-winds !  swift  make  return 

Of  her  ye  take  from  us ; — aye,  let  her  yearn 
Back,  back  to  us  once  more ;  before  this  gray 
Whitens,  and  hearts  that  love  her  are  laid  low. 


75 


M 


MANY   THE    NAMES" 

ANY  the  names,  the  souls,  the  faces  dear 
That  I  have  longed  to  frame  in  verse 
sincere; 

But  one  high  name,  sweet  soul,  and  face  of  love 
Seemed  ever  my  poor  art,  oh  far  above. 
Like  Mary's,  stricken  with  sorrow  was  that  face ; 
Like  hers  it  wore  a  most  majestic  grace. 
That  soul  was  tender  as  the  sunset  sky, 
And  full  of  lofty  dream  her  days  went  by; 
That  name — than  God's  alone  there  is  no  other 
Holy  as  thine  to  me,  O  sacred  Mother! 


JOHN  GEORGE  NICOLAY 

WASHINGTON,    D.    C.,    SEPTEMBER    1 90 1 

THIS  man  loved  Lincoln,  him  did  Lincoln 
love; 

Through  the  long  storm,  right  there,  by  Lin 
coln's  side, 

He  stood,  his  shield  and  servitor;  when  died 
The  great,    sweet,   sorrowful  soul, — still    high 

above 

All  other  passions,  that  for  the  spirit  fled! 
77 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

To  this  one  task  his  pure  life  was  assigned: 
He  strove  to  make  the  world  know  Lincoln's 

mind: 

He  served  him  living,  and  he  served  him  dead. 
So  shall  the  light  from  that  immortal  fame 
Keep  bright  forever  this  most  faithful  name. 


AT    THE    PRESIDENT'S 
GRAVE 

GARFIELD:  SEPTEMBER  1881 
i 

ALL  summer  long  the  people  knelt 
And  listened  at  the  sick  man's  door: 
Each  pang  which  that  pale  sufferer  felt 
Throbbed  through  the  land  from  shore  to  shore ; 

ii 
And  as  the  all-dreaded  hour  drew  nigh, 

What  breathless  watching,  night  and  day! 
What  tears,  what  prayers!  Great  God  on  high, — 
Have  we  forgotten  how  to  pray ! 
79 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

in 
O  broken-hearted,  widowed  one, 

Forgive  us  if  we  press  too  near! 
Dead  is  our  husband,  father,  son, — 

For  we  are  all  one  household  here. 

IV 

And  not  alone  here  by  the  sea, 

And  not  in  his  own  land  alone, 
Are  tears  of  anguish  shed  with  thee — 

In  this  one  loss  the  world  is  one. 

EPITAPH 
A  man  not  perfect,  but  of  heart 

So  high,  of  such  heroic  rage, 
That  even  his  hopes  became  a  part 

Of  earth's  eternal  heritage, 

80 


THE    COMFORT   OF    THE 
TREES 

MCKINLEY:  SEPTEMBER  1901 

GENTLE    and    generous,    brave-hearted, 
kind, 

And  full  of  love  and  trust  was  he,  our  chief; 
He  never  harmed  a  soul!    Oh,  dull  and  blind 
And  cruel,  the  hand  that  smote,  beyond  beJief ! 
Strike  him?  It  could  not  be !  Soon  should  we  find 
Twas   but   a   torturing    dream — our  sudden 

grief! 

Then  sobs  and  wailings  down  the  northern 
wind 

Like  the  wild  voice  of  shipwreck  from  a  reef! 
81 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

By  false  hope  lulled  (his  courage  gave  us  hope!) 
By  day,  by  night  we  watched, — until  unfurled 
At  last  the  word  of  fate ! Our  memories 

Cherish  one  tender  thought  in  their  sad  scope: 
He,  looking  from  the  window  on  this  world, 
Found  comfort  in  the  moving  green  of  trees. 


82 


THE    CITY    OF    LIGHT 

THE   PAN-AMERICAN   EXPOSITION 

WHAT  shall  we  name  it 
As  is  our  bounden  duty, — 
This  new,  swift-builded  fairy  city  of  Beauty, — 
What  name  that  shall  not  shame  it, 
Shall  make  it  live  beyond  its  too  short  living 
With  praises  and  thanksgiving. 

Its  name — how  shall  we  doubt  it, — 
We  who  have  seen,  when  the  blue  darkness  falls, 
83 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

Leap  into  lines  of  light  its  domes,  and  spires,  and 

walls, 

Pylons,  and  colonnades,  and  towers, 
All  garlanded  with  starry  flowers! 
Its  name — what  heart  that  did  not  shout  it 
When,   from  afar,   flamed  sudden  against  the 

night 
The  City  of  Light! 

/tmherst  House,  Buffalo,  May,  1901. 


INSCRIPTIONS 


INSCRIPTIONS 

FOR    THE 

PAN-AMERICAN 
EXPOSITION 


BUFFALO,    1901 


INSCRIPTIONS  FOR 
THE     PROPYL/E  A 

PANEL  I 

HERE,  BY  THE  GREAT  WATERS 
OF  THE  NORTH,  ARE  BROUGHT 
TOGETHER  THE  PEOPLES  OF  THE 
TWO  AMERICAS,  IN  EXPOSITION 
OF  THEIR  RESOURCES,  INDUS 
TRIES,  PRODUCTS,  INVENTIONS, 
ARTS  AND  IDEAS 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

PANEL  II 

THAT  THE  CENTURY  NOW  BEGUN 
MAY  UNITE  IN  THE  BONDS  OF 
PEACE,  KNOWLEDGE,  GOOD-WILL, 
FRIENDSHIP,  AND  NOBLE  EMULA 
TION  ALL  THE  DWELLERS  ON 
THE  CONTINENTS  AND  ISLANDS 
OF  THE  NEW  WORLD 


89 


INSCRIPTIONS  FOR 
THE      STADIUM 

PANEL  I 

NOT  IGNOBLE  ARE  THE  DAYS  OF 

PEACE,  NOT  WITHOUT  COURAGE 

AND  LAURELED  VICTORIES 

PANEL  II 

HE    WHO    FAILS    BRAVELY    HAS 
NOT  TRULY  FAILED,  BUT  IS  HIM 
SELF  ALSO  A  CONQUEROR 

PANEL  III 

WHO     SHUNS    THE     DUST    AND 

SWEAT    OF    THE    CONTEST    ON 

HIS  BROW  FALLS  NOT  THE  COOL 

SHADE  OF  THE  OLIVE 


90 


INSCRIPTIONS  FOR 
THE  GREAT  PYLONS 
OF  THE  TRIUM 
PHAL  CAUSEWAY 

ON  THE  PYLONS  WERE  STATUES 
OF  COURAGE,  LIBERTY,  TOLER 
ANCE,  TRUTH,  BENEVOLENCE, 
PATRIOTISM,  HOSPITALITY  AND 
JUSTICE 

PANEL  I 

THE    SPIRIT    OF    ADVENTURE    IS 
THE    MAKER    OF    COMMON 
WEALTHS 

PANEL  II 

FREEDOM  IS  BUT  THE  FIRST  LES 
SON  ^IN  SELF-GOVERNMENT 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

PANEL  III 

RELIGIOUS  TOLERANCE   A   SAFE 
GUARD  OF  CIVIL  LIBERTY 

PANEL  IV 

A   FREE   STATE    EXISTS   ONLY   IN 
THE  VIRTUE   OF  THE  CITIZEN 

PANEL  V 

WHO  GIVES  WISELY  BUILDS  MAN 
HOOD    AND   THE    STATE  — WHO 
GIVES  HIMSELF  GIVES  BEST 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

PANEL  VI 

TO  LOVE  ONE'S  COUNTRY  ABOVE 

ALL  OTHERS  IS  NOT  TO  DESPISE 

ALL  OTHERS 

PANEL  VII 

THE     BROTHERHOOD     OF     MAN, 

THE    FEDERATION    OF   NATIONS, 

THE  PEACE  OF  THE  WORLD 

PANEL  VIII 

BETWEEN  NATION  AND  NATION, 
AS  BETWEEN  MAN  AND  MAN, 
LIVES  THE  ONE  LAW  OF  RIGHT 


DEDICATORY 
INSCRIPTIONS 

PANEL  I 

TO  THE  ANCIENT  RACES  OF 
AMERICA,  FOR  WHOM  THE  NEW 
WORLD  WAS  THE  OLD,  THAT 
THEIR  LOVE  OF  FREEDOM  AND 
OF  NATURE,  THEIR  HARDY  COUR 
AGE,  THEIR  MONUMENTS,  ARTS, 
LEGENDS  AND  STRANGE  SONGS 
MAY  NOT  PERISH  FROM  THE 

EARTH 


94 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

PANEL  II 

TO  THE  EXPLORERS  AND  PIO 
NEERS  WHO  BLAZED  THE  WEST 
WARD  PATH  OF  CIVILIZATION, 
TO  THE  SOLDIERS  AND  SAILORS 
WHO  FOUGHT  FOR  FREEDOM 
AND  FOR  PEACE,  AND  TO  THE 
CIVIC  HEROES  WHO  SAVE  A 
PRICELESS  HERITAGE 


95 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

PANEL  III 

TO  THE  GREAT  INVENTORS  AND 
FARSEEING  PROJECTORS,  TO  THE 
ENGINEERS,  MANUFACTURERS, 
AGRICULTURISTS  AND  MER 
CHANTS  WHO  HAVE  DEVELOPED 
THE  RESOURCES  OF  THE  NEW 
WORLD,  AND  MULTIPLIED  THE 
HOMES  OF  FREEMEN 


96 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

PANEL  IV 

TO  THOSE  WHO  IN  THE  DEADLY 
MINE,  ON  STORMY  SEAS,  IN  THE 
FIERCE  BREATH  OF  THE  FUR 
NACE  AND  IN  ALL  PERILOUS 
PLACES  WORKING  CEASELESSLY 
BRING  TO  THEIR  FELLOW  MEN 
COMFORT,  SUSTENANCE  AND  THE 
GRACE  OF  LIFE 


97 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

PANEL  V 

TO  THE  SCHOLARS  AND  LABORI 
OUS  INVESTIGATORS  WHO,  IN 
THE  OLD  WORLD  AND  THE  NEW, 
GUARD  THE  LAMP  OF  KNOWL 
EDGE  AND,  CENTURY  BY  CEN 
TURY,  INCREASE  THE  SAFETY  OF 
LIFE,  ENLIGHTEN  THE  MIND  AND 
ENLARGE  THE  SPIRIT  OF  MAN 


98 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

PANEL  VI 

TO  THOSE  PAINTERS,  SCULPTORS, 
AND  ARCHITECTS,  TELLERS  OF 
TALES,  POETS,  AND  CREATORS  OF 
MUSIC,  TO  THOSE  ACTORS  AND 
MUSICIANS  WHO  IN  THE  NEW 
WORLD  HAVE  CHERISHED  AND 
INCREASED  THE  LOVE  OF 
BEAUTY 


99 


Poems  and  Inscriptions 

PANEL  VII 

TO  THE  PROPHETS  AND  HEROES, 
TO  THE  MIGHTY  POETS  AND  DI 
VINE  ARTISTS,  AND  TO  ALL  THE 
LIGHTBEARERS  OF  THE  ANCIENT 
WORLD  WHO  INSPIRED  OUR 
FOREFATHERS  AND  SHALL  LEAD 
AND  ENLIGHTEN  OUR  CHIL 
DREN'S  CHILDREN 


100 


Poems  and  Inscription 

PANEL  VIII 

TO  THE  STATESMEN,  PHILOSO 
PHERS,  TEACHERS  AND  PREACH 
ERS,  AND  TO  ALL  THOSE  WHO,  IN 
THE  NEW  WORLD,  HAVE  UPHELD 
THE  IDEALS  OF  LIBERTY  AND 
JUSTICE,  AND  HAVE  BEEN  FAITH 
FUL  TO  THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE 
ETERNAL 


101 


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— 


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